What Couldn't Be Avoided
by Dream Charmer
Summary: He would have never even looked at her twice, had it not been for Jiraiya.
1. Chapter 1

**What**: general/romance/humor

**Who**: Minato, Kushina. Jiraiya is mentioned a lot, though.

**Where**: canon, as much as it can be, considering how little is known about Kushina.

**Warnings**: none whatsoever

**Summary**: He would have never even looked at her twice, had it not been for Jiraiya.

* * *

**What Couldn't Be Avoided**

_by DreamCharmer_

_-/-  
_

It was becoming painfully clear that there was enough room for only one of them in the apartment. The other would have to leave, and soon. Minato felt quite safe and smug in his knowledge that it wouldn't be him. He had never meant to share in the first place, and he was in no mood to put up with anyone, with _anything_ audacious enough to produce irritating little noises and disturb his hard-won sleep, when he needed it so much, especially in the unpleasant light of what was to come once he woke up next morning.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, frowning.

Yes. Especially that.

Right now, he didn't have what it took to be merciful or patient. The damn mosquito would have to go.

He squinted. The room was suitably dark, exactly the way it should be in the dead of the night, but he'd left the window open to let the fresh air in.

He'd been away for almost a month this time, sniffing out potential threats to the village and taking care of some other business on the way; and the apartment had become hot and stuffy in his absence, dust gathering in the corners and settling down on every horizontal surface, resulting in an overwhelming urge to sneeze. He'd even found two cobwebs, one in the kitchen, the other in the bathroom, of all places, the spiders too lazy and too fat to scuttle away. He'd squished all of them, of course, and removed the products of their activity, but it had done little to cheer him up, because by that time he had already acquainted himself with the contents of Jiraiya's letter.

No. It was necessary to exterminate the mosquito before he could properly concentrate on the other misery that had befallen him.

Minato squinted harder, and finally, there it was. The pale moonlight filtered into the room through the open window, casting wavering shadows on the walls, creating uneven patches of light on the ceiling, and, lying on his back, he could see a small black dot right in the center of one of those patches. So far, it wasn't moving. Without taking his eyes off the disgusting little thing, so he wouldn't lose it again, Minato extended an arm toward the table and fumbled there until his fingers found something rectangular, with nice, rather sharp edges. He picked it, still not blinking, and with a well-trained aim hurled it up at the source of his annoyance. Something white flashed through the air as it struck home, rebounded and fell back down, straight onto his chest.

It was an envelope.

Minato looked at it gravely for a moment, then raised his eyes to the ceiling again. The small black dot was still there, visible in the shadowy light, but now it seemed a little bigger and a lot more stationary, as the very ability to move had left it. Now it was nothing more than an ugly stain on the otherwise pristine surface that would have to be washed off in the morning. Typical death.

Of course, it also signified his victory.

It occurred to Minato that no matter who or what got killed, it boiled down to the same unseemly sight in the end. There would be a mess, and someone would have to clean it up.

He scowled at himself, realizing where he was heading and disapproving of the direction. It was a clear sign of how stressed and tired he really was, that he was thinking any of this at all. Being bitter and resentful about killing an annoying insect was _not_ how he'd planned to spend the night. The long mission had a lot to do with it, certainly, but Minato knew who was to blame for the fact that even now, when everything was over and done with, he still couldn't lie back and enjoy his well-deserved rest.

Jiraiya, that was who.

Minato sighed in exasperation. He'd known – and liked – Jiraiya for almost ten years now, starting from the day when the latter was assigned to train the genin team Minato was part of. He could easily recall his first impression of the man, which was one of the most curious things he'd ever had the dubious luck to experience, because as soon as the new teacher had launched into an unbelievably long speech, Minato had started to see two different people – a loud one doing the talking and the laughing, and the other behind that image, collected and determined, focused on getting the job done. And somehow _both_ were the real thing.

Figuring out his sensei always gave him a royal headache.

The monologue itself had been quite awful though, as the first thing Jiraiya, a representative of the older generation of shinobi and a veteran of multiple wars, had chosen to teach his new-found students was how winning a drinking contest never failed to attract ladies.

According to his theory, a man who almost had_ sake_ dripping out of his ears was the same thing to women that honey was to bees, and they would invariably end up swarming over him, doing their best to please. It was at this point that Minato – then twelve years old and already possessing more common sense than three average adults put together – had felt compelled to point out that any lady who approached a walking bottle of _sake_ was more likely to try and steal its money than partake in any pleasures of the flesh.

_That_ had earned him the title of a smartass; something that Jiraiya still had a habit of bringing up whenever he thought his student was being too smug for his own good and wanted to take him down a peg or two.

Minato reluctantly pushed himself up into a sitting position, then reached out to switch on the lamp on the table near the bed and turned the white envelope over in his hands.

He and Jiraiya were nothing alike; yet a great deal of what he knew and, more importantly, of what he was, he had learned from the man. There was a lot he could respect and admire when it came to his former teacher – much more than what most people he met on the everyday basis could boast of – but certain aspects of Jiraiya's personality hadn't abated over the years and would still leave him angry and frustrated every single time he had to deal with one of them, despite the fact that technically he knew what to expect.

Like this time. The unfortunate letter was a fine example of Jiraiya's occasional inadequacy, as well as his firm belief that if _he_ thought something was no big deal, he could just go and dump it on some poor clueless idiot and then prance away, not feeling guilty in the slightest.

It was only too bad that this time around, the clueless idiot was Minato himself. Or perhaps he should have seen it coming somehow?

For the second time that day, Minato opened the envelope and took out a sheet of white paper, unfolding it carefully and smoothing down the creases to fully reveal what he called _a case of_ _completely unintelligible handwriting_, when he was his usual reasonable self, and _chicken scratch_, if he happened to be in a particularly bad mood, like now.

It had taken him about twenty minutes to decipher the thing when he first opened it, even though he was more than familiar with Jiraiya's scribbles. He scanned the letter again, a whisker of hope that he had simply misunderstood it earlier, still twitching somewhere in the back of his mind.

It read.

"_Minato, _

_I trust your mission has gone well, and I would expect nothing less from you, considering that you are my student. I hope you'll tell me all about it later, when there's sake and beautiful women nearby to help the story flow smoothly, but for now, this is not what I wish to talk about."_

That, Minato thought absent-mindedly, was typical Jiraiya talk, which mainly revolved around drinking and womanizing and was good for little else. Some people might inquire about the recipient's health, but Jiraiya could be trusted to suggest something that came dangerously close to carousing. In some ways, he _was_, in fact, quite dependable.

The letter went on.

"_I don't doubt that you know about the recent Whirlpool incident, even though you didn't go there personally, as far as I know."_

True, he'd had his hands full with trying to ferret out the going-ons in the Hidden Mist at the time. It was always an abnormally paranoid place, wrapped up in mystery as much as it was shrouded in mists; but lately, they'd been receiving even more sinister messages from the borders, and Minato had gone there personally to look into them closely. He was slightly ashamed – and very alarmed – to admit that the mission had turned out to be quite a failure. Mist had refused to disclose its secrets in a very disturbing fashion.

However, this was not the right time to dwell on the subject.

Minato re-focused on the letter.

"_If that is the case, you're probably aware that the Third Hokage offered to take in some of the refugees and give them shelter as well as any help they might require to assimilate into our life and methods of work, since it appears that there is little hope of rebuilding Whirlpool in the near future."_

According to what Minato himself had heard, rebuilding wasn't even an option, because where the houses had once stood, now was a deep, giant crater which was rapidly filling with water from the underground streams. He couldn't help thinking that the place more or less lived up to its name, albeit in a very creepy way.

A decade or so, and it would probably become a picturesque lake where people would come to fish and bathe in the summer, when the weather was hot and dry; all tragedies and deaths forgotten.

They said that even now, the water was already nice and clear.

Minato was unable to decide whether he approved of it or not. Wallowing in misery was certainly not a productive idea, but pretending nothing had happened at all was too hypocritical for his tastes. He did approve of the help offered by the Third, though, and considered it the duty of any decent person. If only...

"_...more people came to us than we'd expected, some almost a week after we decided no one else would appear and didn't have anything prepared; so we had to arrange something quickly for them. I agreed to take care of one of the refugees, a beautiful young woman, named Kushina–"_

"You're incorrigible, sensei," muttered Minato under his breath. "I bet you wouldn't be so ecstatic if it was some old hag well into her eighties and with a limp." He knew Jiraiya would help anyone, even a hag, but only a young woman could render him temporarily brain-dead, which was clearly the case, as the last part of the letter indicated.

"–_unfortunately, before I had a chance to arrange the matters for her, I received an emergency message from one of my informants, who requested help as soon as possible. I'm leaving the village in less than an hour, and there is no time to do anything about Kushina, so I'm passing her over to you. The Third told me that you were already on your way back and wouldn't be doing any missions for a couple of weeks, so you can help the girl; she needs support. _

_Show her around, tell her about the village – well, you know what to do. I told her you were going to take care of her in my place, and she'll be waiting for you. Here's the address, it's where she and the other refugees are staying for the time being–"_

There was indeed an address.

Minato closed his eyes and visualized the map of the Hidden Leaf. If the memory wasn't playing tricks on him, the house was located just a breath away from the Uchiha district. It made a lot of sense, he supposed. Welcoming a lot of strangers with arms wide open was all very noble, but a sensible person – a sensible Hokage – always remembered that it wouldn't do to simply let a group of shinobi from another village do whatever they pleased, without any supervision.

Putting them under the snobby nose of the Military Police Force was a brilliant solution. There was always plenty of supervision wherever the Uchiha clan was involved, and in more than just one way. And they didn't put much store in nice either. It really was a good idea.

Still. The Uchiha.

As a rule, Minato preferred to avoid dealing with them unless it was necessary. He held no personal grudges against them, and he admitted they were excellent shinobi and perfect for the job, but that didn't mean he had to like them. He also believed the feeling to be mutual, in a broader sense of the word.

The Uchiha clan was like a village within a village; part of the Hidden Leaf, yet not quite, its members keeping their secrets, sticking close to each other and looking down their noses at everyone else. Exceptions existed, of course, they always did, and Minato even knew one or two personally, but for the most part, the Uchiha weren't a friendly lot. Every time he had the misfortune to work with the Uchiha shinobi, he couldn't help noticing something flat and hard behind the unreadable gaze, and it was never a pleasant thing to experience.

And now he would probably have to interact with them on the behalf of this Kushina person, thanks to Jiraiya.

As if he had nothing better to do.

Twirling Jiraiya's letter in his fingers, Minato stared off into the slowly dissipating darkness outside the window.

If he was completely honest with himself, he had no particular plans for the next week, and helping along someone who really needed it to recover might be rather relaxing, as well as earn him extra karmic points. It definitely beat chasing criminals across half the country and spying on the so-called allies of the Hidden Leaf. It promised to be a clean, uncomplicated job, practically a walk in the park.

The simple truth was, he felt tired, and sleep-deprived, and quite annoyed at not having been _asked_ if he minded helping. He would have agreed, of course, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered. Still, done was done, and if he allowed himself to carry on the way he was going, tomorrow he would be even grumpier, and would take it out on this poor unsuspecting girl, who had a _real_ tragedy of losing her home to deal with, and maybe more than that.

He felt slightly ashamed of himself.

Putting Jiraiya's insufferable attitude and the potential encounter with the Uchiha firmly out of his mind, Minato resigned himself to the circumstances and opted to get some sleep while there was still time.

He was about to fold the letter and stuff it back into the envelope and out of sight – preferably, under the bed; but his gaze landed on a previously unnoticed line. Apparently, it had been added as an afterthought and probably in a hurry, as Jiraiya's handwriting seemed even messier, making Minato's eyes water to simply look at it.

He must have missed this final message earlier, too busy being indignated, but there it was, sure as the sun rising in the east.

"_Try to go easy on the girl, will you? And don't be a smartass."_

Right. He definitely should have seen_ that_ coming.

* * *

A/N: Nothing I write ever comes out the way it's planned. _This_ was supposed to be a one-shot from Kushina's point of view. Instead I wrote five pages full of Minato, and it looks like it's far from over. Now I will have to write at least one more chapter.:)

If you leave me a review, it will be much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_Where_: AU now, yay.

_Who_: Minato, Kushina; others are mentioned.

_Chapter summary_: Minato meets many people, but, unfortunately, none that he likes.

* * *

**What Couldn't Be Avoided**

Chapter 2

_by DreamCharmer_

-/-

Standing on the edge of a rooftop and looking down at the "additional" Whirlpool shinobi milling about, Minato came to realize that he hadn't been expecting this.

Luckily, he'd showed up alone, so no one was around to ask him what exactly it was that he _had_ been expecting to see. It might give people the entirely wrong impression, if he started to explain that in his mind, the word _refugees_ was directly linked to the scenes of mass destruction, terrible injuries and survivors forever traumatized by the experience.

The times were not peaceful, and Minato, being one of the top shinobi in the village, got many assignments that involved great risks or had to be carried out alone and far away from the Hidden Leaf, in places where no help would ever reach him should he need it. He had witnessed the annihilation of several settlements, and even helped to bring about one of them, when all negotiations had failed and the growing threat couldn't be ignored; and he had a very clear idea of what a war – any war, no matter who started it and why – left in its wake.

That was precisely the reason why secretly he'd felt very glad when he'd found out that he wouldn't be going to the Whirlpool. Minato knew that by this time, his presence wouldn't have made any difference. No amount of skill and knowledge, however extraordinary, was enough to bring back the dead. Some people disagreed, arguing that immortality might be waiting just around the corner, if only they had more time or learned yet another special technique, but Minato doubted the day would ever come. Humankind seemed to be rather ill-suited for eternity. In truth, even if the secret actually existed somewhere out there, it was a blessing no one had discovered it yet. It was too great a temptation, and Minato had seen enough, during his years as a shinobi, to understand that a creative individual would always find new lows to sink to.

And for now, he certainly could do without seeing more fractured bones, limbs ripped off, and faces twisted with suffering and insanity. It took too much effort to forget these things, to try it more often than was strictly necessary.

Thankfully, everything looked almost normal so far.

There were people walking in and out of the house, carrying what looked like bundles of clothes, items of furniture, and in one case, a bucket full of dirty water. A couple of women, their hair pulled back so it wouldn't get in the way, were busy washing the windows. Another one, young and slender, was holding a tray on which resided what looked like a small mountain of cookies. She was wearing an apron; and an offensively bright orange scarf was wrapped around her head, its ends hanging down her back and swaying gently with every move she made. She appeared to be in good spirits, even smiling at something, although from his roof Minato couldn't tell exactly what it was.

Also, she was munching on her own cookies non-stop.

A group of men was standing in front of the house, obviously engrossed in a conversation, as could be seen by their expressions as well as the fact that the speaker, a middle-aged man, whose hair was starting to turn gray on the temples, was having trouble controlling his temper. Minato didn't even have to strain his ears to catch the words.

"–to stop whining and get a grip on yourselves! We are not going anywhere, because there's nowhere to go, you dimwits! Our place is here now, and the lot of you'd better–"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Minato tuned the man off. He didn't need to listen to the rest to realize what was going on. This was the universal shinobi pep-talk, which was supposed to give its victims a purpose and a boost of determination to overcome any possible obstacles, should they appear. Unfortunately, most people chose to deliver it in such a loud, grating voice, and put so many insults into it, that the listeners had to concentrate more on keeping the lid on their irritation than on the actual message.

Jiraiya was rather fond of the method, too, although he admitted, with reluctance, that it didn't work well on certain individuals.

Minato cast one more glance over the Whirlpool shinobi. From that distance, anyone would think they were locals; a big family, perhaps, with an old rusty house desperately in need of repairs and refurnishing, so that its roof wouldn't come crushing down on the heads of the inhabitants while they were asleep. However, if one spent enough time observing them, like Minato had done, it would eventually become apparent that the atmosphere was a little too tense, wariness hanging in air, people moving with more caution than necessary, watching their step, their voices clipped and harsh.

They felt they were strangers and acted accordingly. The Leaf village had yet to become a home to these refugees, and who could say how long the process would take. Minato suspected some would never really fit in, and it bothered him a bit; not only because it wasn't fair – he never really believed in fair – but rather because the situation was doomed to repeat itself in the future, with someone else, and he couldn't come up with a decent solution.

Only two seemed unaffected by the general mood. One was a small child playing in the grass several paces away from the door, blissfully unaware of the hardships his family was going through. Inwardly, Minato congratulated the kid on being too young to understand what was happening. The other was the cookie girl, who, judging by the dreamy look on her face, appeared to be in a world of her own and not about to return any time soon. Whether this was a survival mechanism or simply part of her character, Minato had no idea, but it was obviously working for her.

Rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, he wondered where the "young and beautiful" Kushina was at the moment. None of the three women he could see looked even remotely capable of ensnaring his former teacher with their feminine vibes. The one washing the windows was too old to fit the bill, probably in her forties, not to mention that she was equipped with such a severe frown, that would make even a lecher like Jiraiya pause in his tracks.

A younger woman was helping her, black-haired and dark-eyed; but her overall appearance seemed too bland and dull to appeal to Jiraiya's questionable aesthetic sense. She was, in fact, so unnoticeable that Minato felt his gaze slide over her as if she weren't even there. A part of him found that quality admirable and, more importantly, useful for certain types of mission, where it might help to mix with the crowd and stay hidden until the crucial moment. He filed the thought away for the future, however, because this woman couldn't be Kushina.

Of course, there was also the cookie girl, but she looked awfully weird with her orange scarf and spaced-out expression. Minato shook his head and crossed her off the list.

Maybe Kushina had decided to sleep in this morning, or was engaged in some repair-related activity inside the house. There was only one way to find out, and he definitely wasn't getting anywhere just sitting on the roof. It would be better to go and find the girl, talk to her, get the whole affair off his back; and then he could have the afternoon to himself. There were places for him to visit, and at least three books he wanted to read, if only he could get people to stop infringing on his leisure time.

A tiny hope that things would perhaps work out to his satisfaction reared its head and urged him to get a move on.

In one graceful movement, Minato leaped down from the roof and, as soon as he straightened up, found himself face to face with a sour-looking fellow, dressed all in blacks and grays. The man's hand was hovering just above the hilt of one of his kunai – a total of ten was visible – but he hadn't drawn it, and that was a wise decision. Minato immediately recognized him as the man who had been calling others dimwits. Not surprisingly, up close he didn't seem particularly bright himself. There was no mistaking the aggressive stance and the stubborn set of his jaw, though,

"Who are you?" the man asked in a gruff voice, eyeing Minato up and down, apparently trying to deduce if the newcomer was dangerous. "What do you want? We've done nothing wrong! Why are you here?"

He looked agitated and ready to lash out, perhaps even physically, at the slightest provocation, which only served to confirm the suspicions. Attacking a Leaf shinobi while inside the Leaf village was probably the most idiotic thing to attempt, unless the plan was to commit suicide; and asking for a fight with an opponent whose strength remained undetermined could hardly be called smart either. Minato couldn't help being surprised the man had managed to survive the destruction of the Whirlpool village at all. For a shinobi, such reckless behavior practically invited disaster. People of that sort tended to wind up dead quickly, more often than not for some ridiculous reason.

Minato despised useless confrontation from the very bottom of his heart, especially in the morning. And he _still_ couldn't see what had ticked the guy off in the first place.

He noticed that the others were simply watching the two of them, either unsure of what was going on, which was unlikely, or unwilling to say anything at the moment. They seemed to be waiting for something, in fact.

For his reaction perhaps?

Minato held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "I'm not implying anything of the sort." He _did_ wonder what had set them thinking about it, though. "And I'm a Leaf ninja, _not_ an enemy." he added, directing a pointed look at the man's hand, which was obviously still itching to draw a kunai.

"I can see that," the man growled; but, thankfully, he stopped, and it was better than nothing. "But we already have one, and he and his buddies've been hanging out there, watching us like we're prisoners since we got here," he jabbed a thick finger at one of the nearby buildings. "Do you people think we're going to stab you in the back or what?"

Following the Whirlpool shinobi's gesture with his eyes, Minato saw what he'd been hoping not to see.

A man was sitting on the roof of the three-storied house across the street, his face emotionless and seemingly uninterested, as he observed the unfolding scene. He made no move to interfere, nor did he give any sign of recognition, as his black eyes met Minato's, and the latter recognized, with a heavy sigh, the all-too-familiar features of his least favorite Uchiha.

Fugaku. It explained a lot, though. The man was never one to make things easier for other people.

Minato squashed the irritation and tried to summon his habitual common sense. Just because _he_ would have made an effort to be tactful about the whole supervising business, didn't mean everybody else had to. It was most certainly not a requirement for shinobi; and no one was obligated to do so, unless they actually felt like it. As far as Minato knew, Fugaku himself had never tried to slack off or avoid difficulties, so why would anyone expect him to make allowances for others?

Little things like this were easy to forget, because the facade the Hidden Leaf presented to the world looked so idyllic and _civilian-like_ most of the time. Sometimes Minato had to remind himself that it was through blood and violence that his beloved village had come into existence; that in the Academy they taught the kids to be stealthy and efficient, not sensitive to other people's moods; that it was the same place Root had been formed in, and still existed, outlawed; that here the members of the Uchiha clan, who forgot and forgave nothing, walked the streets and held a lot of control.

Minato wondered idly if one day it would come and bite them all in the ass. Staring up at Fugaku's impassive face, he had no problem believing it would.

He wasn't about to say any of it to the Whirlpool shinobi, though. He might not like the Uchiha, but they were _his people_, in a way; and they hadn't broken any regulations by being crude and unconcerned about something as fickle and mutable as feelings; and he liked this man – this _stranger_ – even less for his demanding tone and rude demeanor.

Besides, Minato was beginning to get angry, which in itself was nothing to write home about.

"Look," he said finally, wishing he could have a word with the Uchiha. He also wished he knew a word that would work on them. "They're our Police Force. It's their job, I'm afraid. You shouldn't be offended, it's the normal procedure." And it was.

The other man snorted. "I know damn well it has to be done. But you Leaf people make it look like we're vermin or something, just because our village got destroyed in the war. _Your_ war! What the hell!"

He finished the last question trying to pick himself off the ground, angry gaze directed at a middle-aged woman with a stern face, who appeared to have been responsible for knocking him down. Minato recognized her as the one who had been washing windows before the ridiculous argument broke out. Her frown had become even fiercer, if such a thing was possible at all, and he almost expected her to shout. But when she spoke, her tone was level, and she didn't spare Minato a single glance.

"You need to calm down, now, before you do anything stupid. Is this a way for someone like you to act?" She raised her voice slightly when the man tried to protest. "You're making the matters worse, for all of us! This is not the place to flaunt your stupid pride, not when there're children to take care of!" she paused, drawing a deep breath, and went on in a quieter tone. "We have no choice, and you know it. Isn't it what you've been telling everyone?"

For a moment, the man hesitated, the desire to argue and put her into her rightful place written plainly all over his face, but then he looked at Minato and decided against it.

"Let's go inside." he grumbled, nodding towards the house. "We'll talk there. And we'll see if we have a choice, after all..."

Minato watched them turn and leave, the door banging shut behind them, the sound both ominous and final in the deafening silence that had descended upon the place. It lasted a split second longer, and then, as if on cue, life came rushing back – time speeding up again, noises filling the background, activities being resumed where they'd been left off.

He stood motionless, trying to sort out the hundreds of thoughts that had invaded his head. One in particular was bothering him; one word the brute of a man had uttered, one word that changed everything...

Absent-mindedly, he glanced at the remaining Whirlpool shinobi.

They were all returning to their respective jobs, averting their eyes and moving a little too fast for Minato to believe they weren't avoiding him. He knew the reason, of course. He had witnessed what should have been kept hidden, never meant to come out, to be seen by an outsider; perhaps in hopes that time would eventually smooth it all down and extinguish, like a weak flame.

Apparently, now that one them had slipped and flown off the handle, the rest chose to pretend no such thing had transpired at all. Minato rather sympathized with them, feeling quite awkward and embarrassed himself at having been unable to put a stop to the distasteful show. He might have even played along, if only he hadn't been fully concentrated on something else.

Finally, the irritating word swam into focus.

Minato drew a long breath.

"What did he mean by _our _war?" he demanded angrily. He didn't appreciate the sound of it, or the man's accusatory tone; and he had no doubt that there was more to this squabble than the arrogance of the Uchiha shinobi, however annoying they might be. Some underlying message. A secret he hadn't been told about. "The Hidden Leaf had nothing to do with the destruction of your village!"

He looked around, trying to meet their eyes, but everyone seemed to have developed an unnatural interest in whatever each of them happened to be doing. Only the dull-looking young woman held his gaze for a few moments, but then she shook her head slightly, more to herself than to Minato, and went into the house, taking the bucket with her.

It seemed he wasn't going to get any answers from these people, unless he resorted to physical violence and other similar methods, which, unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, without much delicacy.

He whirled around and very nearly knocked the tray out of the hands of the cookie girl. She no longer wore the misty-eyed expression, and she had lost her smile as well, trading it for the stubborn, almost challenging look which suggested there might be a horrible temper lurking beneath the otherwise pleasant features, waiting to float up to the surface. Minato blinked, his own anger subsiding.

"Watch what you're doing!" the girl said sharply, brandishing her tray almost like a weapon. Oddly enough, the gesture didn't even look stupid, but rather threatening. "You're not on a dancefloor, you know!"

_You're telling me_, Minato thought with some exasperation. Any place, including a dancefloor, a pit full of rabid wolves and, possibly, a dragon's lair, suddenly seemed very attractive. He felt strangely tired, head swimming with questions he had no answers to; and he wished the girl would just go away and let him _think_.

But what he said out loud was, "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were there."

Apparently, this wasn't a response she'd been waiting for, because it did nothing to appease her. If anything, she became even angrier, eyes shining dangerously, cheeks coloring. "So insignificant and easy to overlook, am I? Or is simply that you can't see anything unless it's your own reflection? Haven't you done enough damage already?"

Minato had to exercise all his considerable self-control to bite back the snide remark that was dancing on the tip of his tongue. He knew it would only worsen the situation, since the girl clearly was the type to take offense at the slightest implication; and he'd already gone through enough bickering to last him a week, especially for a person who had yet to eat properly.

He'd been taught, by the ever-optimistic Jiraiya, that every cloud had a silver lining, if only one knew where to look, and so far, he'd always been able to locate the damn thing. Minato wasn't about to let the tradition come to an abrupt end because of a girl who possessed the manners and fashion taste of a desert nomad. He just needed a moment–

"What are you staring at, you creep?" the Whirlpool girl was eyeing him suspiciously, a frown on her face. "And why are you here, anyway? What do you want from us?"

Yes. Firstly, it was a good thing she'd interfered and diverted his attention from the accusations against the Leaf village. The situation required some careful handling and investigating. It did _not_ require shouting. He knew too little to make conclusions yet.

And secondly, an amazing opportunity to end the conflict was dangling in front of his very eyes.

Minato pointed at the cookie tray the Whirlpool kunoichi was still holding.

"These look very good," he announced brightly. "May I have one?" He proceeded to take it, not waiting for her to grant permission, shocking her into a bewildered silence.

To his surprise, it tasted more than just good, and he said so, half because he believed that if something deserved praise, it should be praised, and half because it was a neutral subject – the best thing to break the tension and reach the verbal equivalent of a safe harbor. It must have worked, too, as the the girl's expression relaxed, and she mumbled a reluctant, almost inaudible _thanks,_ and looked away.

This troubled him a little, seeing her so obviously glad, so eager to receive kind words from an absolute stranger who had narrowly escaped turning into an enemy. It betrayed loneliness, lack of friends, and maybe even low self-esteem – not surprising, given the circumstances, but Minato still felt sorry for her.

He brushed the thought away, though, because it was none of his business. _His_ business was something he had almost forgotten, and it was high time he remedied that.

Minato took another cookie from the tray and flashed the Whirlpool kunoichi his most friendly smile.

"Listen," he said. "I'm actually looking for someone here, and I wouldn't mind a little help, if it's not too much to ask. Do you, by any chance, know where Kushina is?"

Her head jerked up at that, eyes widening, lips parting in surprise. It dawned on Minato, that behind the awful scarf and rude manners, she was, in fact, very pretty.

He gave himself a mental shake and hurried to explain. "You see, I've been asked to, well, help her, in Jiraiya's place – you may have seen him round here, I guess – because he was called away on a mission."

She kept silent, still gazing up at him with that odd expression on her face. Minato began to worry. Was it something Jiraiya had done? Or did she think he was going to harm Kushina?

Finally, she spoke.

"Jiraiya-san sent you?" she paused, a small frown marring her smooth features for the briefest of moments. "So you must be Minato."

"I am," Minato agreed, glad they were getting to the point. "So, where can I find Kushina? Is she here?"

The girl gave him an exasperated look.

"Moron," she said flatly. "You've been talking to me this entire time._ I_ am Kushina."

* * *

A/N: this thing just keeps getting longer. I admit defeat – there will be more chapters, until it comes to a logical conclusion.

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed – please, do it to me again!:)


	3. Chapter 3

_Where_: AU.

_Who_: Minato, Kushina, others.

_Chapter summary_: no one is amused, and it becomes painfully clear that politics is not something to build a healthy relationship on.

* * *

**What Couldn't Be Avoided**

Chapter 3

_by DreamCharmer_

-/-

It had been, Minato reflected, as he let the girl's words sink in and make themselves at home in his mind, a good time. A long time, too, since he had last made a fool of himself in such a blatantly obvious manner _and_ in public on top of that.

The feeling was not welcome.

Sure, this little skirmish could never even aspire to beat the accursed day when Jiraiya had dragged him along to peep at the women at the local hot springs. One of those women had turned out to be Tsunade, Jiraiya's former teammate and another one of the legendary Sannin. Apparently, she hadn't expected anyone to be crazy enough to sneak up on her, and had her guard lowered. From their vantage point in the thicket, Minato had managed to get more than just a glimpse of what Tsunade had to offer to the world of men, before Jiraiya, in his excitement, trod on a dried twig and alerted the woman to their presence. Minato couldn't recall much of what had happened after that, as the things became rather hectic. However, Tsunade's face, rendered unrecognizable and ugly by the fury, when she'd charged at them, roaring obscenities, still stood out vividly in his mind. Jiraiya had taken it in his stride, more or less, even muttering "what a temper, huh?" affectionately, before passing out and being carried away to the hospital, Tsunade in tow, still shaking an angry fist at her former teammate and threatening to bash the last brains out of his head if he ever dared pull this stunt again. It had taken Minato half a year to stop flinching whenever he looked her in the eye.

His only justification was that he'd been barely fourteen at the time, and had Jiraiya for the teacher. The last fact especially carried a lot of weight. Even Tsunade had only spat "get lost, brat" instead of kicking his liver out through his ears in her usual manner..

Kushina, of course, lacked the other woman's upbringing and, thankfully, personal quirks, and he doubted she could ever pack a punch to rival Tsunade; but the dangerous gleam in her eyes, as well as the firm grip she had taken on the cookie tray, hinted at the storms to come. Besides, he'd already got his first taste of her vocabulary, and wasn't thrilled.

Not that it made a difference, sadly.

"Well, it's good to meet you," he said, hoping his voice sounded sincere and suspecting it didn't.

The slight scowl on Kushina's face served as an excellent reminder that he should really work on his poor acting skills. But if she had any snide comments, she kept them to herself. For now.

Instead, she nodded reluctantly and muttered, "Yeah, I guess it is."

Minato could hardly blame her for not being convinced. He felt no particular joy about meeting her, and it probably showed. It was an ominous sign, nevertheless, because women were notorious for digging up some implied insult and then gleefully blowing the almost non-existent spark into a roaring fire of enmity.

Jiraiya liked to give long speeches on the subject, although somehow he always made it seem as if it were a good thing.

Still, as far as Minato could tell, there were only two options.

The first one would be to pretend everything was perfectly fine and start smiling. It was probably the most abused method in the history of human relationships, but Minato was having misgivings about using it this time around. The biggest catch was that in order for it to work, both parties had to make an effort; and Kushina exhibited no desire to get all chummy with him. In fact, her sour expression alone was enough to curdle milk.

It didn't upset him, though, as Minato was quite sure he wouldn't be able to pull it off anyway. Lying had never been his forte to begin with, and being strong enough to deal with any opponent in a direct combat meant he never really got any practice. Besides, he preferred to be honest with people. As honest as possible without getting into trouble, at least.

That left him with the second option.

"Why don't we take a walk?" he suggested brightly. If he assumed a friendly, but businesslike tone, she would certainly understand that there was no point to wage a personal war against _him, _and would just accept his help, if she needed it, so that they could both get on with their lives.

Kushina's eyebrows went up practically to the point of disappearing under the scarf. "Why would I go anywhere with you?"

Oh yes. Now he would have to prove he wasn't going to backstab her first.

"Jiraiya asked me to show you the village," he explained patiently. "It wouldn't be funny if you went for a walk and got lost, would it? Besides, we need to talk, and here's not a good place. Well, _I_ need to talk to you, at least," he amended, noticing that she opened her mouth, probably to let him know she had absolutely nothing to say to him.

Kushina pursed her lips sternly, and Minato prepared to deal with any witty comebacks that might be heading his way. None followed, however, because another thought appeared to strike her. She pointed in the direction of the Uchiha district, where Fugaku still graced the roof with his presence.

"What about him?"

"Him?" Minato shrugged, unconcerned. "He won't mind. He's only here, because it's his duty. You can go wherever you want as long as you don't leave the village. But that applies to everyone, you've got to get permission for that."

She remained hesitant, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation, "I'm not here to harm you. Jiraiya sent me, remember?"

That seemed to work.

"It would take more than you to bring me down!" Kushina retorted haughtily, setting her tray down on a discarded three-legged chair, and marching out into the street ahead of him. Her nose was stuck into the air, so she could hardly see where she was going; and as Minato hurried after her, shaking his head in amusement, he half-expected her to trip and fall on her face.

He decided to simply give her a tour around the Hidden Leaf, so she could get the feel of the place, rather than drag her to gape at the Hokage's Tower or the hospital. Those were fine enough places, certainly, the alpha and omega of any self-respecting ninja village; but if Kushina was to become a Leaf kunoichi, she'd soon find herself seeing more of the Hokage's office than was healthy for any human being even without his help. As for the hospital, it was practically a second home to any shinobi. A couple of Minato's worst nightmares were dominated by its cheerful facade, and he believed he would be able to pinpoint its location even if he was dumped in the middle of the woods, drugged and blindfolded.

Still, there was no point to rush towards the inevitable. She'd probably be more interested in shopping anyway. Women generally were; and if a shopping spree was necessary to take her mind off the recent nasty business and, more importantly, Minato's involuntary part in it, he could live with that.

Maybe he could buy her something, like ice-cream, or a straw hat, for that matter, so she would throw away that orange abomination. It was such an eyesore, with its acidic color and ridiculous length; and he couldn't even see her hair because of the thing. It reminded him of those embarrassing pictures where people had only half a head, because the photographer had been too drunk to stop swaying.

He didn't raise his hopes though, as Kushina was likely to consider such an offer an attempt to bribe her into trusting him. Still, it was worth a try. Minato quickly picked a suitable street and steered the kunoichi in the chosen direction.

She seemed to enjoy the sites, asking questions, turning her head to take in every little detail and poking her nose into every side street and corner. She insisted on eating ramen, somewhere along the way, and criticized the recipe, provoking a lengthy – and rather heated – discussion with the owner of the shop. Minato didn't understand half of what they were saying, since the conversation was littered with monstrous words that belonged, as he assumed, somewhere in the cooking book: names of different spices, and herbs, and kitchen utensils he had never heard of before, and verbs defining all sorts of seemingly frightening processes that every cook probably knew the meaning of.

It occurred to Minato, as he watched the two of them plunge into the mysterious depths of the craft, that the cookies he'd eaten earlier on had been baked by Kushina herself. She'd taken his offhand praise rather personally, after all.

She immersed herself into the conglomeration of flowers, potted plants and miniature bansai trees in the Yamanaka flowershop, and stood there for what seemed like a small eternity with a disturbingly dazed expression, touching the leaves and petals with careful fingers, quiet and serene, as if she had spent all her life in a mountain monastery achieving enlightenment.

The solemn impression was spoiled almost immediately though, because five minutes after they'd exited the shop Kushina got chased up a tree by a big stray dog with floppy ears. She sat on the lower branch, red-faced and outraged, showering the creature with words that Minato would have only expected to hear from a retired sailor.

"It's your own fault," Minato commented reproachfully, after he had herded away the dog and dragged Kushina over to the other side of the street. "This scarf is too long, and it's just dangling there. Dogs don't like that. You might as well wave a stick in front of it. Why don't you take it off–"

"The scarf stays!" she barked, brushing dust off her clothes.

"Look–"

"It stays!"

Minato gave up. It was none of his business if she got attacked by more dogs.

"That aside, how do you like it here? Is the house alright? I know, it's been empty for a while, and it looks a bit shabby on the outside, but you won't have to live there forever."

"Any house is better than living in the open field," Kushina replied matter-of-factly, still craning her neck to check if the animal was pursuing her. "It has a roof and four walls, and that's more than what's left of the Whirlpool." she added grimly.

Minato was perplexed. "What? A roof and four walls? Aren't there any rooms inside?" It couldn't be that bad, even if it _was_ a fairly old construction. Unless, of course, they allowed a spiteful Uchiha to pick the house. He hoped not.

"It was a figure of speech! Of course, there are rooms!" Kushina snapped irritably, glaring at him. "And they are not my relatives, if you really must know. They are just people who managed to survive."

Oops.

Minato put out a placating hand. "I'm sorry," he told her, and he really meant it this time. "I shouldn't have said that. It was tactless of me."

"Yeah, it was," she grumbled.

She was still shooting him nasty glances, but at least she appeared to have sensed his sincerity. At first, Minato was tempted to ask what had happened to her family, but he thought better of it and decided not to push his luck.

Kushina dropped her gaze to her hands and spoke again after a moment of silence. "I actually like the house. It's really old, yes, but it's spacious, and my room is on the sunny side." She beamed at him suddenly, all bright and dazzling. "Shizuka wanted it too, but I beat her to it, so she had to take the closet near the kitchen! Serves her right!"

Minato stared at her in bewilderment. Couldn't the girl stick to the same mood for longer than a minute at all?

"And Shizuka is...?" he asked cautiously, hoping he wasn't venturing into forbidden territory again.

But Kushina had no problems discussing the subject. "She was the one with the bucket and a long face," she supplied cheerfully, and Minato immediately remembered the bland young woman he had deemed useful for stealth missions. Apparently, there was no love lost between her and Kushina.

He found it unsurprising. As far as personality was concerned, Kushina and Shizuka appeared to be positioned on the opposite ends of the scale, and he couldn't see them meeting anywhere.

"You don't like her very much, do you?" He gave her an amused look, and Kushina giggled conspiratorially in response.

"I hate her guts!" she announced loudly, scaring a nearby bird into taking wing from the comfortable branch where it had been napping peacefully. "Well, we've been rivals since forever, actually. And she's just so prim and proper, I can't stand her!" There was nothing at all proper about Kushina, starting with the terrible orange headwear. "And I hate her holier-than-thou attitude, always knowing what's right, trying to boss me around, making fun of me in front of other people! Well, now we'll see who's laughing."

Minato thought about everything she'd said.

"Is it really a closet?" he asked finally.

Kushina pouted. "Not exactly," she admitted, visibly chagrined by the fact. "It's just a very small room no one wanted, because it's right next to the kitchen, and you'll have to live with the smells. I bet she planned to shove _me_ there."

To Minato, it all sounded a little too extreme and unnecessary, but he wisely refrained from commenting, and chalked the whole thing off to Kushina's fiery temper. She seemed to be a competitive, all-or-nothing type, and as such, was unlikely to appreciate it if things like reason and common sense were suddenly inflicted on her by the guy she'd only met an hour ago.

He opted for the safe path. Kushina obviously enjoyed bad-mouthing her rival, so he would let her rant some more.

"But why does she despise you so much?"

To his surprise, the question had the opposite effect. Instead of launching into an excited monologue, she fell silent again, as if someone had switched off the light inside her.

"I don't know," she mumbled finally, shifting her weight from one foot to another, eyes fixed somewhere on his left ear. "She just does, that's all. Maybe she needs to pull that stick out of her ass or something."

Minato wasn't going to buy such a poorly masked lie, and he considered pressing her for the truth, but quickly discarded the notion. She didn't owe him any answers, and antagonizing her now was the last thing he wanted to do.

So instead he proceeded straight to the next question. It was an important one. "Do you need help with any formalities?" There were always formalities, as Minato, who battled post-mission reports on a regular basis, knew only too well. Sometimes he felt that Leaf had gone a bit overboard developing its bureaucratic system.

Kushina seemed a bit puzzled. "Formalities?" she echoed, raising her eyes to his. "I gave my name to Jiraiya-san, and to the guards on the gates, and they wrote it down... There's more?"

Poor girl. She had it all coming to her.

"Well, yes, I'm afraid there is," Minato said sympathetically. She suddenly looked very lonely and _small_, despite her bravado, her volatile temper and rudeness; a little girl with no family and no home, helpless against the looming shadow of never-ending paperwork. He wondered how he could have disliked her at all, when he should have felt compassion and pity. It wasn't like him.

Minato sighed.

"You'll need to get a permanent registration as a Leaf kunoichi," he told her, waving a hand in the air vaguely. "You'll have to give them detailed information about yourself, not just the name. They will probably want to run some medical tests on you as well, and depending on the results you may be required to undergo special training."

He chose not to mention that an encounter with the Interrogation Squad might be included in the program.

"What? Why would I need extra training? I'm a professional, you know! I'm strong!"

Minato pinched the bridge of his nose. A moment ago she'd been acting normally, and now she was a bundle of nerves again; and all it took was a suggestion she still had something to learn. Way to go, certainly.

"I'm sure you are, but no one knows it here yet," he said mildly, and she had the decency to look sheepish. "They'll never know unless you tell them. Come on, give people a chance. What makes you think someone's going to go out of their way to spoil it for you? We're not monsters here, no one has anything against you."

She slid him a sidelong glance. "You don't know that."

"Of course, I do," Minato replied exasperatedly. They were going in circles, and he really hated that farce. "I grew up in this village, it's my home. Are you saying I don't know how things work around here?"

Kushina remained unfazed by his words. "I guess you do, but that's not what I mean. You're not the Hokage."

Minato frowned down at her. "What does it have to do with anything?"

"It means there may be lots of stuff you don't get told about, because you don't need to know. So you can't say for other people, and they may have their own reasons."

"Reasons to dislike _you_?" Minato asked sharply, and her face tightened, but he went on regardless. He was getting tired on tiptoeing around her, and the conversation was heading into places he didn't care to explore. "Do you mean to say that someone here has a personal grudge against you? If that's what it's all about, just give me the name already, so I can do something about it. I'm sure I will be able to think of something, even though I'm not the _Hokage_," he added acidly. "Or is it this idiotic theory about the Leaf somehow destroying your village again? It is, isn't it?" he exclaimed, when she gave him a sullen look and stuck her chin out defiantly.

There was some weird, twisted idea orbiting inside her head, and she stubbornly refused to be clear about it, preferring to dodge questions and speak in badly formulated riddles instead. Damn Jiraiya for saddling him with a job like this. He was going to have a word with the man as soon as he returned. Quite a few words, in fact.

Minato tried to focus.

"Listen... Kushina," he began in a slow, measured voice. "I don't know exactly what your problem with us is, but I'm telling you it's not true. Whoever planted the idea in your head either was a complete moron and didn't know what he was talking about, or simply wanted to make your life here difficult."

He didn't say _and I would very much like to meet the bastard_, but he thought so.

He found it hard to call her by her given name, as it suggested some sort of familiarity and mutual respect, which he knew neither of them really felt. Minato didn't count mind-reading as one of his talents, so it was anyone's guess what kind of thoughts were running through the girl's head, but he was ready to bet that her opinion of him wasn't something to brag about. For his part, Minato found her quick to judge and susceptible to sudden mood swings; and it didn't take a genius to put two and two together and arrive at the conclusion that he would have one hell of time communicating with her.

He still thought she was a good person, when she forgot to feel misunderstood and buried that metaphoric axe she kept swinging about just in case. He believed that he'd seen - and quite liked - glimpses of the woman she might be, but it would undoubtedly take a lot of time to make her trust him. Kushina seemed to operate under the false impression that enemies were lurking behind every corner, and while he could see where it came from, it didn't make the situation any easier for him.

To help her, Minato needed her cooperation_ now_, and she wouldn't give it, because she was too busy defending herself from him.

He knew it wouldn't stop until he ridded her of the mysterious issues all Whirlpool shinobi appeared to have about the Hidden Leaf and its role in the obliteration of their village. These issues were a thorn in the side of his unwilling relationship with the girl, and needed to be removed, fast. They were poisoning her mind.

It was all completely ridiculous, of course. A mistake of some sort; maybe a provocation. As far as Minato's limited knowledge of the subject went, the Whirlpool had been attacked and subsequently destroyed by a large group of Mist shinobi. He had no idea what possessed them to annihilate a place that had never been a threat to them; but no one seemed to be able to figure out the Mist nowadays. Minato knew it better than anyone, because he'd tried and failed. But where the Leaf might come into the picture, he couldn't explain even to himself. They weren't on good terms with the Mist themselves.

The Whirlpool, on the other hand, had been an ally – a rare thing to come by in the paranoid world of shinobi – and while Minato wasn't arrogant enough to presume he knew everything about his village's politics, he couldn't imagine it undermining its own safety. Granted, even the Hokage, no matter how sharp and intelligent, couldn't hope to know everything. Too many parties were involved, both openly and otherwise, too many undercurrents, tugging and pulling in opposite directions, often disregarding petty little things, like common good and justice, caught up as they were in pursuit of their own ambitions.

If anyone cared to ask him, Minato could name some of these parties, most prominent being Root, which seemed to have _benefited_ from being outlawed, and proved it daily by spreading its influence further; and the Uchiha clan whose members appeared to take a sick sort of pride in the fact that their ancestors had left a bloody trail throughout the history. But that was the reason the Hokage and the ANBU existed – to keep the village whole, to prevent any of these people from taking things too far, to put a stop to their plots and schemes before they escalated to a full-blown civil war or triggered something equally terrible.

They all kept their secrets and played their games, as was and had always been the way of shinobi, but somewhere out there existed a line not to be crossed, a boundary every player was expected to know and recognize on sight. Most did, because they saw it as a necessary condition that kept the game running and provided a measure of safety that even people like Danzou needed if they wanted to achieve their goals.

All-out wars were ugly, messy affairs that definitely lay beyond the imaginary line and left little room for anything but fighting for survival. It would take a person of exceptional caliber, a second Madara Uchiha, to defy that system, break all laws and customs and throw the world into the chaos of anarchy. It was a thing only someone who had nothing left to lose might attempt to do. Someone who didn't particularly care if they came out on top, as long as everyone else was down and finished.

Privately, Minato believed people of that rare kind to be the only _real_ threat, since they were unpredictable in their insanity and couldn't be reasoned with. Luckily, Madara Uchiha had been dealt with and passed into dusty history books, which few people read and even fewer understood. Everyone else adhered to the unwritten rules and consequently made the world a more peaceful place, on the whole. The leaders of the five great nations ought to know that very well (those who didn't never lasted long), and none of them would start a war unless the circumstances were so dire that it couldn't be avoided. And once it _was_ started, no amount of brainwashing and paper work would be enough to hush it down.

He said that much to Kushina, seeking to impress upon her that there was no way he wouldn't know about a war, if it was real. He tried to dumb it down as much as possible and refrained from using over-complicated words – she didn't strike him as the type to read _or_ think a lot – but it still turned out to be quite a long monologue.

Minato was surprised when she didn't interrupt him or show any signs of impatience or boredom. At some point, he even decided that he'd managed to lose her despite all efforts and she was now sleepwalking; but the moment he finally reached the end of the speech, Kushina suddenly halted in midstep and turned to face him, hands on hips. Her face had gone pale despite the tan, and she was biting her lower lip. Minato began to suspect, quite belatedly, that he had gravely miscalculated somewhere.

"So," she breathed out quietly, through clenched teeth. "So that's what you really think? That it's all a game? A freaking game?"

"What? Of course, I don't think it's a game!" Had she completely missed the point?

"Oh really? What was that about lines and rules then? You sure seem to enjoy it all, talking about living people like they are pieces on a board."

"You misunderstand," Minato snapped with irritation. "I never in my life treated people like things and I certainly didn't mean it like this. Perhaps you should stop picking on me and twisting my words. It was just a metaphor, if you know what I'm talking about," he added innocently, because her behavior was beginning to irk him.

Kushina snorted derisively. "You think I'm stupid, don't you? Well, I'm not!" She jabbed him in the ribs with a forefinger. "That stuff you told me, I know it all. Did you really believe that I didn't know it was Mist shinobi who attacked us? When I was there myself? If only you'd cared to ask what I meant, before you started lecturing me–"

Minato felt his ears turn red. "I wasn't lecturing, I was _explaining_. And I only did it because you're fixated. Maybe I used wrong words, I don't know, but it's your own fault for spouting some vague nonsense instead of just telling me everything, like normal people."

"Normal people? Well, maybe I'm not _normal people_! Excuse me for not trusting someone who shows up all out of the blue, makes a mess and then acts like nothing has happened!"

"There you go again! You don't trust me, which means you don't trust Jiraiya, and seeing how you talk about them, you aren't too fond of your friends or whoever they are, either! _Who_ do you trust then? No one, I guess, because you seem to be delusional enough to suggest we are all part of a great big conspiracy against you."

"I didn't say that," she protested, balling her hands into fists angrily. "You're the one twisting my words. I never thought you were all my enemies here or anything. If I did, I wouldn't have come here at all. I would have run away or go down fighting rather than dance to your tune. You don't know a thing about me, so stop talking like you do!"

"Then _you_ stop blaming us! If you know it was the Mist, then what the hell is wrong with you? Spit it out already, because you're driving me mad, and I'm not even being paid for that."

He didn't plan to say the last part – it was the proverbial smartass territory, and Jiraiya had specifically requested polite treatment for his no-good protege, after all – but the words came out before he had a chance to clamp his mouth shut. She _was_ driving him mad with her incessant mood swings and total inability to see or make sense. If he was more paranoid, he might suspect she was doing it on purpose.

Minato longingly wished he had ignored Jiraiya's letter. The fact that he hadn't, only proved that his faith in humanity was over-inflated at best.

Sadly, Kushina didn't look impressed at all.

An unexpected movement, and she was suddenly right in front of him, her small hand gripping the collar of his shirt tightly. She stood on tiptoe to reduce the difference in height and avoid looking up at him.

"Nothing is wrong with me," she told him tersely. "And if you had let me finish, instead of preaching, I would have told you that we had no trouble with the Mist. That's why no one anticipated the attack, and they took us by surprise."

"I still don't see–"

"Stop interrupting me!" she barked, and Minato winced at the volume. "We are – we _were_ – your allies! Everyone knew that. Everyone out there knew we were important to you people because of our sealing techniques. The Mist didn't come to simply wipe out our village, they came to destroy an invaluable asset of the Hidden Leaf. They didn't give a damn about how many innocent people got killed, they just wanted to weaken _you_! You, not us. It was never about us! And your Hokage allowed it."

Minato was silent. His mind was reeling with the new information, as he tried to quickly assess the probability of her theory and figure out what it might entail for all of them, if it was true. It fitted nicely, he had to admit, and it explained everything he'd been puzzling over so far. The half-veiled enmity, the vague comments, the bitterness; it all fell into place.

He wouldn't put it past the Hidden Mist to choose such a brutal course of action either. They excelled at brutal and could even be openly sadistic at times, if at least half of the rumours he'd heard about their graduation ceremony and the legendary Seven Swordsmen of the Mist were to be believed. Once again, Minato regretted that they knew so little about the place. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Leaf was getting too arrogant and sanctimonious, too blinded by its own light to see it wasn't untouchable; if they had already let the enemy past their guard perhaps.

He wished he could apologize to Kushina and say he believed her. It would likely ease the tension between them, and maybe even make her trust him a little. He also wished he could disapprove her story and deny any part his village might have played, however involuntarily, in the destruction of her home.

He did neither, though, because it would mean lying, and while Minato could be many things, hypocrite wasn't one of them. He needed to talk to someone else first, someone who would tell him the real truth, not make educated guesses. He needed to make sure he knew what he was getting himself into if he decided to take sides.

Jiraiya would do, but he was out in the middle of nowhere, rescuing one of his informants, and there was no telling when he might resurface again. Nothing was ever certain with Jiraiya.

The Hokage then. The Third had to know what was going on.

Right now, however, he had something else to concern himself with. Kushina was still staring at him sternly, one hand clutching at his shirt, her face inches away from his; so close that he could see every eyelash clearly, and feel her breathe.

It was a highly disturbing thought. And a very awkward situation. Silence seemed to have enveloped them, and time flowed agonizingly slow, like syrup.

Minato cleared his throat and said, "Listen, Kushina, would you mind stepping away? You're invading my personal space."

Immediately, the spell was broken, and normality came back in a stream of noises and colors: a bird chirped cautiously, and then launched into a cheerful song; a dog barked a few streets away; and the warm greens and yellows of a typical Leaf afternoon filled his vision. Kushina let go of his shirt and took a step back hastily. She didn't look angry anymore, but rather unnerved and shaken.

"Well? What's up with you? Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked snappishly, trying to regain her composure.

"I don't know yet," he replied honestly. "It's a serious accusation. Well, not accusation, but you know what I mean. I think I believe you, but I want to talk to... other people first." He noticed her try to wipe her hand on the apron discreetly, and felt offended. He was _not_ contagious.

She gave him a look. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why talk to anyone about it at all? What difference will it make now?"

Minato frowned. "I will know the truth, of course, that's the difference. How can I change things if I don't know what's going on?"

"Change things?" Kushina echoed. "You won't be able to change anything no matter what. Supposing you learn the truth, and I'm right, what will you do? It's too late now – my village is already destroyed. Even if it wasn't, do you honestly think they would let you get in the way? The higher-ups, I mean, the Hokage and those others you mentioned. They let it happen once, they'll do it again."

Minato paused. What would he do? He thought of the Third, and the Uchiha, and Root, and gods only knew who else might be involved. Did he really know his village as well as he had assured her?

He shook his head. He would agree that things had gone wrong – if what Kushina had said was correct, which had yet to be confirmed – but he refused to believe the Leaf was corrupted beyond reason. He couldn't imagine the Third to stoop to slaughter even if it seemed necessary (why would it be necessary?). There was always a solution, always a silver lining, or so Jiraiya used to teach him. All that he had to do was find it and then perhaps he could fix everything. Or, at the very least, he could make sure it would never repeat in the future.

"I will think of something," he told her firmly. "If it's true, I definitely need to know all about it. You don't expect me to just sit back and allow it to happen again, do you? Maybe not now, you're right, but I'll become the Hokage one day, and then I'll make it work my way."

Kushina gaped at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "You? Hokage? _You_? Are you kidding me?" She stopped abruptly, drew a breath, and went on calmly. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound rude, but there's no way you can ever become the Hokage. Come on, you didn't even expect to hear all the stuff that I told you. You should have seen your own face, so shocked... You're just too naïve," she shrugged and added. "And kind-hearted. You'll never make it."

"I'm not naïve!" Minato snapped, very insulted. Just because he was polite and preferred to think good of the place he called home didn't mean he was blind.

"You are," Kushina said flatly. "That's why you have no chance. It's not a job for soft people." She sniffed. "Honestly,_ I_'d make a better Hokage – at least I know life!" She shot him a haughty look. "Anyway, I'm going back now. Thanks for showing me around and all. I think I can find my own way now, so you don't have to bother. See you."

With that, she turned and strode away, the ends of the scarf waving in the breeze.

Minato watched her retreating back disappear behind the corner with a frozen expression. Not only had he been labeled weak, in a roundabout way, but gotten dismissed too. By the girl who had horrible fashion sense, couldn't decently communicate her thoughts if her life depended on it, _and_ was directionally challenged.

Jiraiya was going to hear all about it. If he liked loud, violent women with potty mouths, it was fine by Minato, as long as the man kept them on a leash and away from his life. He had better things to do, like paying a visit to the Hokage, for example. He may never have to interact with Kushina again in his life – he certainly hoped so – but he still wanted to get to the bottom of the Whirlpool affair.

With that in mind, Minato turned and began to walk towards the Hokage's Tower.

He was so infuriated that he didn't call Kushina back to tell her she was going in a completely wrong direction.

-/-

_A/N_: Alas, there's no such genre as _politics_, but know that if only it existed, it would be right here. I have no idea where it comes from, though. I don't even watch TV. :)

I'm sending a great big _thank you!_ balloon to everyone who reviewed. Look, it has a smiley face on it, yay! It compels you to review again... _"crawls away to take pills"_.


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